The repeated clapping of lightning and roaring of thunder assailed Kurama's responsive senses. The harsh wind numbed him with its cold fingers. He looked around: There wasn't a ray of sunlight or an assurance of safety in this place. It was a familiar milieu.
It was a place where only the strong survived, and the weak were merely food for the strong. It rivaled hell itself with its ominous presence. It was a ruthless and cruel environment where only the ruthless and cruel had a right to live.
It was a place he called home.
"I-I'm back in the Demon World?" Kurama supposed, not quite sure of what was happening. "What am I doing here? How did I...?" he trailed off just as his nostalgia was replaced with an urgency that demanded his notice.
'A dream. It's just another dream,' Kurama reckoned as his deliberations finally clicked with the situation. 'Munashii must have thought that he can lull me into my own oblivion by giving me a month long sabbatical.'
Indeed, it had been a month since Kurama had one of his queer dreams; the last one was even literally queer. Kurama chuckled at the thought despite of his morose surroundings. Hiei unsurprisingly hadn't bothered to visit him again since the fateful 'kissing' incident. The youko hoped that his little self-induced poke into his own manhood hadn't been taken too seriously by the overly grave jaganshi.
The youko looked around once more. He confirmed that he was on a cliff overlooking the vast, majestic and awe-inspiring landscape that was the Demon World. He looked over his shoulder, worried that, any moment now, an enraged and jealous Hiei would come out of the woodwork and cut him in half, his entrails spilling out as he fell into the grim chasm below. He shuddered at the horrifying but admittedly ridiculous thought.
'A month-meaning it has already been three months since we've heard from Munashii himself; from the man who was once known as Tetsuma Yoshitaka, the life-giver,' Kurama reflected as his mind went back to its original focus while still warily looking from left to right for any sign of danger. 'Has he now come to confront me again?'
Even if this was a Dream World, the Makai remained a dangerous place, and old habits died hard; especially centuries-old habits. Kurama cautiously backed up from the hazardous crag that could mean almost certain death with one simple push. He stared at the surrounding darkness for any movement, but he quickly realized that even though his sense of smell and hearing were more reminiscent of his true youko self, his eyesight remained distinctly and imperfectly human.
Kurama sighed. 'That's right. I almost lost myself there. I now live in a human host, with human weaknesses and limitations. This nostalgic setting almost made me forget that right now I'm...'
"Human."
It was said with such malice that Kurama reflexively winced. It was stated in such a way that it seemed like the speaker was addressing a lowly and disgusting insect.
He half-expected to see Munashii standing right behind him. At last, the soulless one had come out of hiding, ready to confront the prey that he sought after for so long.
But it wasn't Munashii.
The statement was said in Kurama's own voice.
No, not just in his voice. It wasn't in his human voice. It wasn't at all effeminate and gentle. Rather, it was harsh and severe. There was a deep, unmistakable coldness to it. So much unlike his human voice but it was still his voice.
It was his youko form's voice.
Shonen
A Yuyu Hakusho fic
by Chester Castañeda
Disclaimer: All characters used in this fanfic (save some others) are the rightful property of Yoshihiro Togashi, Shueisha, Fuji TV and St. Pierrot. Don't sue me please, I'm very poor.
Halfway through the Four Seasons arc comes the soft-spoken Midori Ohya.
Chapter 10: Autumn
Kurama was now staring into his own golden eyes, his own silvery hair, and his own cruel sneer. He was staring at his own inverse reflection. He was staring at himself. He was staring at his youko self.
"Human," the specter repeated, a menacing glint in his eyes that implied murderous intent, "disappear from my midst."
The threat in his voice was unmistakable as he drifted gracefully yet ominously towards Kurama's personal space, the two Kuramas finally meeting face to face.
The face off was brief. Youko Kurama stared at the empty space he lunged into in slight annoyance. The 'human' Kurama had stepped away from the deadly attack, thus falling unceremoniously into the darkened depths below.
But Kurama was no fool. His body might have been weak, but his mind remained as sharp as it was during his days as a ruthless thief in the Demon World. Youko Kurama realized this once he saw his red-haired counterpart swing up the crevice, sailing past him with the use of the ever-reliable Rose Whip.
"I'm not going to disappear from your midst," Kurama avowed resolutely as he landed safely on the cliff's base a good distance away from his youkai self. "I will not be dictated upon by a reflection of my own self."
Youko Kurama snorted derisively. "How can you be so sure that I'm just a reflection of yourself?"
"Because after what I have been through all these years as a Spirit Detective and after certain recent, eye-opening events, I have finally realized who I am. I know who I am and I know who I am not."
Youko Kurama's scowl seemed even more menacing after he heard his alter ego's sentiment. "I am no reflection of you, human." He immediately charged again.
Kurama swung his Rose Whip high and low in a zigzag formation, intending to somehow entangle this youko doppelganger by either binding his feet or hands.
Kurama's eyes widened in shock as he saw his double suddenly stop his rush, slowing his pace down to a walk while maintaining a steady eye on the snaking rose whip. Then, with a skill born of age-old experience, Youko Kurama grabbed the whip and sheared its thorns out with one hand while wrapping the smoothened vine-like weapon around the other.
"Pathetic," Youko Kurama derided as he carefully cupped all of the sharp thorns inside his palm. "Have you really become this weak after mingling with those pitiable humans?" The legendary youkai thief suddenly yanked the boy near him with the Rose Whip. "You're nothing like me."
Kurama nearly yelped out in surprise once he was pulled off the ground, flying through the air like a helpless autumn leaf that was blown away by a raging hurricane. 'Incredible! Did I possess such power as a youko? Or am I really so piteously weak as a human?'
'No! What am I thinking? I am not human-I am the youko-I am Youko Kurama, not this doppelganger! He's just another fantasy Kurama, the same as the one in my dream about Keiko and the other one in my dream about Hiei! I am the real Kurama!'
No further thoughts were aired inside Kurama's head as pin-sharp thorns were painfully smacked on his face as he approached Youko Kurama head on. The mindless pain tore through him like nothing he had ever felt. The pain was sharp and vivid, as if it didn't come from a dream.
'But it did come from a dream. This is just another dream trying to confuse and manipulate me,' Kurama thought desperately amidst the searing pain. "I will not be manipulated!"
Despite the burning anguish from the lesions that matted his face with blood as thick and red as his own mane, Kurama was still able to concentrate enough to wrap the remaining thorny parts of the Rose Whip around the 'true' youko's arm. "Don't talk as if I'm not who I think I am. I have been through too much to not know who I truly am!"
"You're beginning to sound like an echo, human."
Youko Kurama idly looked at his bound limb and sneered. "How typical. If I move any further to strike, my arm will be clopped off. You, on the other hand, will remain still because if you do sever my arm, you'll be open for a counterattack. It's the perfect standstill for someone as non-confrontational as you."
"Don't give me that. You'd probably attack the same way, if you were in my shoes," Kurama spat contemptuously, because he knew that his youko self would not take him seriously until he made himself into a threat as great as... himself.
"You really don't know a thing," the ruthless youko condescendingly sneered. "I would never attack in such a way that would compromise myself and give my opponent a chance to counterattack. That's ludicrous. A thief is ruthless, cunning, and manipulative. My attack earlier, had this not been a dream, should have killed you instantly."
'Wait a minute! This fantasy Kurama-this Youko Kurama-is aware of the fact that this is a dream?' Kurama exclaimed incredulously.
"To fight with your opponent's well-being in mind; to have your legendary ruthlessness decrease as time passed by; to let yourself become so weak to the point that you have become more of an annoyance than a threat: You're nothing like me."
Kurama stared at his youko self, dumbfounded. The sheer heartlessness of the youkai was readily apparent, but it wasn't the reason why the gentler redhead was left speechless. Kurama knew that somehow he should be incensed, angered by the statements, but he wasn't. He didn't feel any anger or irritation at all, even though his pride was at stake. The fact left him feeling... peculiar.
"You have forfeited the right to be called Youko Kurama."
"What gives you the right to say that?" Kurama demanded, but this time with no malice in his voice, only puzzlement. It was as if he really was curious of the answer.
"What gives you the right to claim something you've denied in the first place?" Youko Kurama rejoined, his eyes blurry and his features inscrutable.
"What do you mean by that?" Kurama cried in a more insistent tone, with a hint of... fear? Was that a hint of fear in his voice?
"Why did you not fight Shigure as your youko self? When you fought the demon in your human form, why did you say that you fought as your 'true' self? Shouldn't you answer those queries first before you question my judgment on your suitability to be called Youko Kurama?"
But Kurama didn't have any answers for those queries-because they were his own queries as well; questions that had nagged him since the end of the Makai tournament. He resolutely decided on something, but he himself didn't know what he decided upon, try as he might. Why didn't he change back into his youko form altogether? Why did he continue to linger in the Human World? Why did he pass up a perfect opportunity to continue his old life after he was forcedly separated from it?
"This isn't the first time you've dreamed of this," Youko Kurama stated. "Before you had your confrontation with Shigure, you've been dreaming this dream; you and me, as separate entities, facing off against each other in a fight to the death. This dream isn't as symbolic as you'd like to believe."
Youko Kurama then bit the bullet as he let the sharp, thorny whip dig deep into his arm. Kurama let out a silent scream as he felt his youko self's sharp claws tear his chest apart, making his already palpitating heart race amidst a geyser of blood.
The cruel youko stopped short from ripping Kurama's heart out altogether when he felt his arm get violently skinned. He bit his lip as he felt the burning torture, exposing canines that painfully punctured his lower lip while tissue and muscle were exposed from his profusely bleeding forearm.
"It's you who doesn't understand. You're just like Yomi," Kurama rasped as he struggled against his failing breath, his vision blurring several times. "I'll tell you now as I had told Yomi before: I fought as myself. This is what makes up my identity now. I am a youkai yet I choose to live as a human. This is the decision I stand by."
"And to claim yourself as a youkai while you live a human's life makes it all right? You fool!" Youko Kurama spat as he winced in unsaid agony. "This is the greatest tragedy for one such as a youko."
"I don't see the tragedy," Kurama remarked honestly. He afterwards noticed the malicious glint in his inverse reflection's eyes. He warily backed away, bracing himself for anything.
"Well then, I have this to say. If you still think that you're I and I am you, then you will see and understand the tragedy your decision has made of your life."
With that said, no more words were necessary. With the swiftness of claws and the skillfulness of hands amidst mutual pain and agony, each struck their final blow; two equal halves destroying the whole.
Kurama sputtered awake, disbelief etched upon his panicked features. After waking up from his latest dream, the redhead felt rather empty. He felt alone, but not because he longed for companionship. He was alone per se. He didn't feel lonely, it was just a fact that he addressed; he was alone.
Perhaps this was just his way of reacting to his latest whimsy. Or rather, he didn't know how to react to it. He didn't know what to feel about it. He just felt... nothing. For a change, he now knew how Munashii usually felt.
Kurama felt so empty that he didn't notice the red stain on his pristine white sheets. "Blood?" he noted, surprised by the calmness of his own voice.
He frowned in irritation; a curious reaction, considering the situation he was in. This lack of feeling in him was grating his nerves and testing his patience. Confusion and anger was better than the numbed feeling he had, so his sudden bout of annoyance was a welcome change.
His typical dithering thoughts were replaced with confusion once he finally traced the origin of the stain on his sheets. He gasped in shocked anguish as he gently extricated a miniature version of his rose whip wrapped around his bleeding wrists.
"Looks like Munashii is now playing for keeps," Kurama murmured to himself, caressing his sore, bleeding wrists.
What the undead bishonen wanted from Kurama by involving him in such dreams was beyond him. All he knew was that he had to survive this somehow. He was able to endure several grueling centuries as a notorious demon fox thief, after all. This was nothing compared to his hardships as one of the most influential creatures of the Demon World.
An obvious lie; he'd already noted to himself that his human life was beginning to gain equal footing with his past youko life in terms of impact, no matter how short or seemingly insignificant it may be.
Kurama blinked. He didn't know where this train of thought was leading him. He was surprised at himself. He was actually comparing his youko life to his human life. How silly. He subsequently wondered which really did have impact on him as a whole.
The youko furthered his contemplations; or was it the "half-youko"? Now that he thought about it, since he had lived his life recently as a human, did that now make him a half-demon? He simply didn't know.
Kurama furrowed his eyebrows in concern. 'Another influence of this new dream, perhaps?' he mused, mulling over the situation at hand. 'I couldn't even choose between my two supposed personalities. I'm supposed to be wholly youko, my human counterpart just a mere shell, and yet-'
He remembered the dream again; his true youko self, fighting his human counterpart. His point of view wasn't through the youko. It was through the human.
"Is the dream actually making me choose between my youko self and my human self?" Kurama whispered incredulously as he got up from his bed and searched his medicine cabinet for the first aid kit.
A stray, unbidden thought entered Kurama's mind. It was the statement his youko self had said before his dream ended.
'If you still think that you are I and I am you, then you will see and understand the tragedy your decision has made of your life.'
From there, Kurama responded, as if it his answer to the youko's challenge was in his subconscious all along.
"A star's pride will only allow a death fit for a star; to crash and burn into blazing glory. So it is the greatest humiliation for a star to die by simply fading away."
And from that unbidden declaration came an unbidden memory from his past: his human past.
"Shuichi, you should play with children your age. It's the normal thing to do," Shiori Minamino urged her young son desperately, worried by the way he was sitting on the park bench in all his lonesome earlier that afternoon.
Shuichi mutely stared back at her, his demeanor resolute, his eyes defiant. He continued to brood as he ate his meal in silence, politely thanking his mother for the repast, but still not responding to her request.
Shiori sighed forlornly. Though her child was polite towards her, and he wasn't unkempt, dirty, and naughty like other boys his age, she still wished that he'd start doing normal, boy-type things typical of kids his age.
'Sometimes I want him to be naughty. I want him to have fun; to soil his clothes once in a while and to play in the dirt once in a while. He should talk more. He should talk about 'boy' things like lizards, tops, and slingshots. He should be more curious of his surroundings. All the other kids keep away from him, and it worries me. I love him so much, but still...' she trailed off from her train of thought as she realized that the dishes... hers and her son's... were already put away, the tabletop wiped clean and the leftovers put in the refrigerator.
She was able to catch a silhouette of Shuichi as he tiredly bounded on the stairs. She sighed again, but it wasn't a tired sigh, as indicated by her wispy smile.
"Thank you for doing the dishes and putting away the leftover food, Shuichi!" Shiori called out.
"It wasn't a problem. I didn't mind," came Kurama's deadpanned reply.
Shiori let out a tinkling giggle. "Now what sort of mother can stay mad at such a good boy like that?" she chided herself, not at all minding if her child had heard or not.
'So did the "star's pride" idea originate from my human childhood?' The youko mutely changed his bed sheets, taking care to remember to also change his bandages later. The darkened, brownish stain on his dressed wounds illustrated the point.
But all these tasks were just menial labor for the kitsune; things to occupy his idle hands as his distracted mind went elsewhere, his earlier declaration still echoing in his head.
"A star's pride," he absently reiterated as he fluffed his pillows, his psyche searching for the exact incident in his past, in his supposed childhood, where the pledge originated, so that he could finally unlock its meaning.
The young Kurama sat on the windowsill as he gazed at the clear, jewel-filled night sky. He was grateful to the human woman for taking him into her care, a youko reborn like an infant pup, but her constant niggling was beginning to tax on his nerves. He needed to stay away from her for a while, impolite as it may seem.
'Impolite, eh?' The reborn youko chuckled at the word. That was an understatement, considering who he was just nearly a decade ago-literally a hairbreadth of a moment in a youko's long life. He never cared for such things as politeness in the Demon World. There was no such word or concept in the dark, foreboding, and faraway world.
Kurama shook his head. 'No, it isn't faraway. Just after five more years or so, after I have repaid my debt to this human woman, I will return to my real life, as Youko Kurama,' he reckoned, though he still didn't know how to revert to his original form... yet. Whatever Youko Kurama wanted, he would get. But he also languidly mused at how he was going to repay his gracious host once he left. It didn't really matter; he'd figure something out eventually.
He idly wondered if he was going to miss the young mother, just as he'd missed Kuronue after he died, or even the impetuous Yomi after he was taught a valuable lesson in humility. He dismissed those thoughts; the woman wasn't going to die or get killed, he merely wasn't going to see her anymore after five years or so. But he still questioned if he was going to miss her nonetheless.
Would he also miss the blue sky and the bright sun of the Human World? No, he didn't care much for it. What he did like about the Human World was its clear, midnight sky and its glittering jewels touching the darkened heavens. It symbolized his past life in a very special way. He was always fond of symbols.
The darkness was always a warm, safe blanket for a thief; a trusted companion, a confidant, and a protector. That was what the night represented for him-but it was the sparkling diamonds that seemed so far, so unattainable that it nearly drove him to madness, that really caught his eye.
He imagined plucking those gems right out of the sky, defying even Enma Daio himself just to get those precious treasures.
Would he miss the symbolism of the night sky even after going back to his former youko life? Kurama shook his head. Those were probably thoughts for another day.
"Shuichi?" asked a startled voice.
Kurama inwardly groaned as the female human entered his room. She was probably going to scold him for staying up so late, or tell him to get down from his perch on the windowsill because he might accidentally fall down from the window. He never did know how to react to her daily naggings, so he just coped the only way he could; the only way he knew.
He stared back at her with a grim, pokerfaced look.
"Shuichi..." his 'mother' started.
'Here it comes. Come down from that windowsill right this minute, young man! and some such. It's degrading for a youko to hear such-'
Shiori smiled, saying, "So what's up?" which made the young Kurama blink.
So it went on like that-young mother and adopted 'prodigal son,' looking up in the night sky, admiring the glinting pinpoints of light.
Kurama knew that the woman was merely waiting for him to ask something. So typically, like the daring youko that he was, he took the risk. "Kaasan," he started, addressing the female in the way she wanted to be addressed.
"Hmmm?" Shiori mumbled simply, not even bothering to look away from the spectacle before her.
'Does she really think that I'm naive enough to not see through her pitiful act?' Kurama thought-in wonder, not with malice, despite the harsh words. He braced himself to continue.
"What are those?" he asked, curiosity and innocence apparent in his voice. 'Do I really sound so childish and inane?'
"They're called stars, Shuichi," Shiori answered, smiling and still not staring back at her 'son'. "They're bright stars that last forever."
"Nothing lasts forever," Kurama somberly rejoined as he looked back at the... stars, a hint of maturity in his voice. He felt uneasy as he became aware of the woman's intense and shocked stare.
'Perhaps I shouldn't have said that. It was rude and it didn't coincide with the 'little boy Shuichi' she had pictured in her mind. But how can I take it back?'
"You're a smart little tyke that's just eager to grow up, aren't you, Shuichi?" Shiori teased her son.
'Half-right,' Kurama mused, seeing his mother in a new light.
"But you're right, nothing lasts forever. Even stars. Those stars, they're so far away that it takes thousands of years for their light to reach Earth, and within those thousands of years, some of the stars we see today are probably dead by now."
"Dead?" Kurama repeated, morbidly fascinated.
Shiori nodded. "So that means all we see right now, in a..." she trailed off, hesitating, but she continued, "...a philosophical viewpoint, are just shadows of the past."
Kurama looked up broodingly at the sky. 'Thousands of years, and then they die out. So they're kind of like demon fox spirits, then,' he reflected. This was the best conversation he had with his mother so far. He idly wondered when exactly did he start referring to the woman as his mother, but he pushed the thought back. He still had an important question left to ask.
"Kaasan, how do stars die?" Kurama inquired.
"Scientifically speaking?" Shiori queried in kind.
Kurama shook his head. "Philosophically speaking," he stated, partially repeating what his mother had said earlier.
Shiori let out a laugh-a laugh so gentle it reminded the reincarnated youko of the tinkling of gilded bells.
"Okay. My father told me this when I was your age, so listen carefully. A star dies in two ways. It either crashes and burns into blazing glory or it simply fades away." She seemed to size up Kurama for a bit before she excitedly resumed, "Now, philosophically speaking, stars are a prideful lot. They'd rather die by crashing and burning rather than by fading away. So, in a sense, it's almost heartbreaking to see a star fade away."
Kurama seemed to take Shiori's avowal seriously as he solemnly nodded, carefully contemplating his mother's words in his methodical mind.
Shiori ruffled Kurama's hair familiarly, smiling. "It's wonderful that I've finally found a way to talk to you, son. You're practically a gifted genius."
Instead of beaming at the motherly praise, Kurama merely supposed aloud, "Aren't there persons who live out their lives the same way: by either going out in a blaze of glory or by slowly fading away?"
Shiori smiled as she kissed Kurama's forehead. "Those things only happen to stars, dear. Now off to bed you go. We can talk about that some other day."
"Shuichi, breakfast is ready! It's time to go to school!"
It was his mother's usual morning greeting. It was so customary that Kurama blearily inspected himself to see if his human body had already aged nineteen years instead of just a mere six years-meaning he checked himself if he was still dreaming. Even his memories had become a lot more vivid ever since his special little fantasies started. He almost couldn't tell if he was still dreaming or already awake.
"Coming, kaasan!" he cheerfully called out as he bounded off the stairs, already sporting his school uniform.
"Are you okay, son? I heard some noises in your room last night, and I was kind of worried-"
"I'm okay. Everything's okay," he assured as he hid his bandaged wrist under his uniform's sleeve. He hated lying to his mother like this, but he had no choice in the matter.
"That's good to hear, but you shouldn't stay up so late... Oh, yes! Do you still have some money left over from last week's allowance?"
"Of course, kaasan."
Shiori kissed Kurama on the forehead-a habitual yet tender gesture. "That's a good boy. You know, your little brother is finally starting school right here in this district, and money's been a little tight since the wedding..."
"Kaasan, it's all right. No need for that apologetic tone," Kurama reassured consolingly.
"You're sweet as always, Shuichi," Shiori said cheerfully as she nuzzled Kurama's head.
Of course he was. Kurama always felt the need to be extra-polite to his mother, especially since he lied to her face everyday. It was only fair.
How many times had he lied to his mother, anyway? He'd probably lose count; not that he bothered counting in the first place. He had lied from the start-from the numerous missions he attended for the Spirit World's sake to the little secret that started it all: the fact that he was a youko.
But was he really a youko right now? He wasn't living a youko's life, but a human's.
"So it is the greatest humiliation for a star to die by simply fading away," the statement in his subconscious echoed.
So was he a star that was fading away? Was he a prideful youko that was slowly vanishing into oblivion, turning into a mediocre human? Did he will himself to fade away, in hopes that one day all his lies to his mother would become truth? That someday, through his own choice, he would become...
'What's with these weird thoughts?' Kurama pondered as he woke up from his brief yet thought-provoking reverie.
"Ah. That Shuichi is quite a handful. I mean the other Shuichi," Shiori conversed, unaware of her son's transitory sabbatical from reality; or perhaps she was just feigning ignorance since she was already used to it. Kurama could never really tell.
"Oh my! Sometimes I wish that that father of his could've named him something else. His son and my son having the same name! How vexing," Shiori protested, but the joviality of her tone allayed her supposed displeasure.
"It's nice to see you so happy about Shuichi and his father living here, kaasan," Kurama honestly observed, dispelling his nasty thoughts about his own deception and deceit.
"Ah, the wonders of motherhood! Like I said, your little brother is quite the handful. He's so naughty, so rowdy, and so emotional." Shiori exhaled as she looked towards Kurama's direction. "I wish I could've been more prepared. If only you weren't the exact opposite of your younger brother."
Kurama rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. He had seen this act done by some of his classmates in junior high school whenever they were confronted by either something embarrassing or by a moody female-or both. The gesture somewhat worked to a degree, so Kurama picked up the habit ever since. "I can't help the way I am, kaasan."
Shiori lightly laughed her 'tinkling bells' kind of titter. "That's right. I guess you can't. You can only be Minamino Shuichi," she said in a singsong voice as she made her way upstairs to carry on her newest hobby: needlework.
Kurama just sat there, unnoticed by his mother as he considered her words. 'I could only be Minamino Shuichi. Huh. It seems that I don't know who I want to be.' He stood up hesitantly, remembering that he still had classes today. 'What do I choose now: pride or humility? Glory or nothingness?'
He slowly trudged to the door, his steps heavy, his mind burdened with semi-coherent thoughts; thoughts intertwined with the perennial questions that also plagued all of humanity. 'Who am I? What is my purpose for being?'
"While I'm touched by your concern and grateful that you protected me from Chiho's usual abrasive comments, I don't think that gives you the excuse to not talk to-Hello? Midori-chan? Earth to Midori-chan!"
Midori Ohya blinked several times before Yumiko's insistent beckons registered in her brain. "Huh? What was it, Yumiko-san?"
Yumiko crossed her arms in mock disapproval, a sly smile creeping in the corners of her mouth. "And you call me the girl who has her head in the clouds! Look at you, Midori-chan. Ever since summer ended, you've been blanking out constantly." A thoughtful look crossed the girl who sported lengthy sideburns. "Hey, Midori-chan; I didn't blank out like that every time I dreamt about Minamino-san, did I?"
"No, of course not!" Midori lied through her teeth. While she usually abhorred dishonestly, there were times when the truth was far more hurtful than lies. Besides, lying afforded her a way to avoid confrontations to boot.
Yumiko raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You're pulling a Minamino, Midori-chan."
Midori blinked as she struggled to clear the haze in her mind. A Minamino... What was a Minamino again? 'Oh yes,' she thought as she finally remembered. 'Pulling a Minamino' was a popular campus term in Meiou High that originated from Shuichi Minamino himself. 'When one 'pulls a Minamino,' he or she usually acts in an extremely polite and diplomatic manner in order to avoid any sort of confrontation or conflict, going as far as to make oneself into what can be termed as a 'human doormat.' The term can be loosely connoted to 'lying through your teeth' and 'wearing your heart on your sleeve.'' Midori blinked again.
"I did not pull a Minamino!" the mousy girl exclaimed.
Yumiko looked at her younger-looking colleague with half-lidded eyes. "Yeah? Well, you pulled one just now, while you're denying it. Let's face it; you weren't built for lying."
Midori pouted as she adjusted her glasses. "What were you trying to tell me earlier?" she asked, desperately trying to change the ridiculously silly subject.
Yumiko paused for a bit before advising, "You have got to apologize to Chiho! You know how sensitive she gets. You said some pretty hurtful things that I know you didn't really mean. If you swallow your pride just this once and say sorry, I know that-"
"No," Midori asserted, cutting off Yumiko.
The shorter-haired girl blinked at her bespectacled friend in alarm, knowing that Midori never cut off people. "Why do you have to make things so complicated, Midori? If you're doing this for my stake, then please stop."
"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Yumiko-san, but I'm not doing this for you," Midori contended resolutely. "I'm just sick and tired of swallowing my pride for that condescending-"
"Midori!" Yumiko bleated in alarm, shocked at her friend's demeanor. "How could you say that? You were both the best of friends long before I even joined your group; and I don't mean Chiho's silly little Minamino fan club. If this isn't about me, then why are you acting like this?"
Midori merely shrugged at Yumiko's question as light glinted off of her coke-bottle glasses, making her face eerily expressionless. "That's just it, Yumiko-san. You weren't there during all those years I knew Chiho. You don't know the full extent of her pettiness. You have no idea just how shallow Sasae Chiho is."
"I'm not worried about Chiho, Midori. I'm worried about you," Yumiko disclosed, her apprehension as clear as her words. "You've... changed somehow."
The class bell suddenly rang, signaling the start of classes. Midori had already moved out of the way of the milling crowd, but Yumiko still stood steadfast, her eyes sporting the strange combination of defiance and pity.
"People don't change, Yumiko-san; some people just don't see that little something that was already there in the first place." With no further disputation, Midori left the confused and worried Yumiko alone in the hallway as she joined the growing throng of students.
"It's yet another day of juvenile infamy," Midori drawled to herself as she entered the bustling classroom, a look of pure, half-lidded boredom in their eyes. She discreetly avoided any contact with Yumiko as they passed each other while taking their respective seats.
"You should all quiet down. Isako-sensei is going to be here any moment now," Kaito Yu, resident class nerd, snootily admonished. Typically, his pleas for obedience and compliance were mostly ignored. Atypically, his tone seemed almost... strangely pleading.
Midori ignored her last thought as she took her seat. The Midori before-the one that was an overbearing martyr-would have given Kaito's unease a second consideration. She might even wonder in concern what could have made Kaito feel so uncomfortable of the usual early morning rowdiness before class.
That was before. 'This is now.' Midori nonchalantly took her seat, taking out a small notebook from her leather bag as she ignored the noise of the rest of the class.
"Who would have thought that someone so quiet and unassuming could turn out to be such a bitch?" Midori recognized the spiteful, mocking voice. It belonged to the unofficial leader of Chiho's little posse; her right-hand girl in the fashion club; the textbook example of a social climber.
Who would have thought that people actually gave such vile creatures a name? 'Masami.' Before she realized it, Midori was already giving the object of her contempt a discreet, sidelong glance hidden behind the glint of her thick glasses as she pretended to read the neatly written characters of her history notes.
There they were; Chiho's mindless, shallow lemmings. They stood out from the rest of her classmates with their unnaturally colored hair and overzealous accessorizing, but ironically enough, they looked more like 'victims' rather than 'members' of the fashion club, what with all the imaginary, unrealistic ideals of beauty they follow (with disastrous results).
Midori could almost feel herself scowl at the idea as she focused her casual glance at Chiho herself. The flashy girl looked mostly bored-nearly apathetic-as she looked at a leaflet of some sort. 'The ideal of perfection is still concerned with cosmetic appearances and her own reputation, heedlessly taking advantage of the vulnerability of the innocents like the Ice Queen that she is.'
Midori idly wondered how Chiho was able to convince her to abandon the Literature Club to join the dubious 'Legion of Minamino-sama.' 'It was all for friendship's sake,' the bespectacled girl reasoned, but there was no feeling of kinship between them at that moment.
"Look at her over there, sitting quietly while she studies her little notes. Awww, ain't that sweet? Isn't she just the sweetest little nerd?" one girl, about Yumiko's height, wearing heavy, dark makeup that was once the latest fashion but now was just a past trend worn in bad taste, heckled.
"Y'know what I think? I think she's just trying to hog some attention for herself, which is too bad since everybody knows that she'll always be the invisible girl; right, Chiho-san?" a seemingly complete clone of Chiho, right down to the wrist bangles and the oversized earrings, nastily suggested. Chiho seemed to deliberately ignore her doppelganger's presence.
"Well, I for one think that an insignificant, unpopular nerd who's eager to please but is still mostly ignored should learn first who she's dealing with before she starts a fight," Masami acerbically implied on behalf of her beloved leader, a toothy smile on her face.
Midori was more than fazed by the statement and by the disgusting little whispers that followed it. Because it was, more or less, the same statement Chiho spat to her face after she was slapped that fateful summer afternoon in the park.
It was a statement composed of hurtful little barbs that upset Midori to no end, all because of the fact that those meaningless collection of words stabbed deep into her pride the only way the truth could.
Midori shook her head as if to clear it. 'Silly thoughts; they're nothing but silly thoughts.' She furrowed her brow as she sightlessly looked at her open notebook. 'Disgusting little whispers. Can't these squealing lemmings stop?'
Midori paused for a bit as she lifted her head and gazed at her classmates. It came, unbidden; the uncomfortable reticence. She could feel their secretive yet undeniable collective gaze. She covered herself with her thin paperback notebook as if she was suddenly stripped naked.
The quiet adolescent was able to catch glimpses of some of her classmates staring back at her through mirthful eyes. She felt discomfort over those mischievous eyes that darting back and forth on her person.
The ice was thankfully broken by the appearance of Shuichi Minamino at the doorway. A subdued-looking Yumiko stepped aside the red-haired boy's path as he made his way to his desk. 'The boy of reflection is here.'
Midori looked at Minamino in rapt and mute attention as a way of ignoring the growing feeling of cold dread inside her. Suddenly, in as unexpected a manner as the appearance of the earlier uncomfortable silence, the class's typical group of mostly male pranksters surrounded Minamino and gave him several leaflets, snickering.
Strangely enough, those leaflets looked a lot like the one Chiho was perusing earlier.
Minamino blushed furiously as he looked at the pieces of paper. Midori concluded that some of her asshole classmates must have printed out some pornographic material on the leaflets to tease the straight-laced student.
Minamino afterwards uncharacteristically slammed his palm on his desk in anger, surprising the prankster group and the whole class in general. "What sort of sick joke is this?" he demanded ominously.
A copy of the controversial leaflet fluttered silently on the floor near Midori's feet. Overwhelmed with curiosity, the shy teenager ignored her nagging feelings of trepidation as she picked up the piece of paper, intent on viewing its enigmatic contents.
Tears fell on the sheet as Midori held it with trembling hands.
She saw laughter. Not actual, mocking laughter; she heard no such thing. But she saw it-felt it.
She saw it through their eyes, felt it through their demeanor.
She saw it through the way the prankster group was looking down on her as if she was just another silly virgin nerd girl they could pick on because she was neither pretty enough nor desirable enough to deserve their respect.
She felt it through the way Masami and her cohorts were acting. They didn't need to make any of their annoying little giggles to mock her. All they needed to do now was to flaunt their aura of smugness over their revenge.
But the worst thing wasn't the silent laughter of the trickster group and the sheep of the fashion club. After all, not all of her classmates were involved in the repugnant little practical joke.
Yet these very classmates had the worst reaction of all.
Yumiko seemed as shocked as she was, and so was Minamino. But she couldn't erase from her mind the look they mutually shared. It was a look that was reflected by the eyes of many of her classmates.
It was a collective look of utter pity.
This was simply the worst thing to happen to her. For her, it was worse than spiteful laughter, and far worse than being ridiculed behind her back. Those were actions usually motivated by blind jealousy or a demand for recompense due to a real or imagined hurt.
Pity could only be elicited by bearing witness to someone's nakedness, misery, and despair. The only thing a person must do in order to earn pity was to become miserable.
Nothing can possibly be worse than to be helplessly mortified, humiliated, and pitied.
She lifted her head up as she dared look at each and every one of her classmates. Some looked away as if they were guilty as sin, though paradoxically enough, they were the ones least likely to be involved. Still others, the ones who were as guilty as sin, stared back at her steadfastly, even proudly. Her eyes then alighted on the girl who started it all; her traitorous friend.
The Ice Queen.
She wanted to see in the Ice Queen's eyes the same flighty arrogance she saw in the Ice Queen's pawns.
If she saw condescension in Chiho's eyes, then Midori could accept it. Then they would be even. She humiliated Chiho and now Chiho humiliated her. That was that. Petty revenge in Chiho's part was a much more acceptable reason for the doctored photos than the shallowness of people who shouldn't even be involved with their personal squabble in the first place.
But Chiho didn't look at Midori with any disdain at all. Instead, she was looking at her the same way the rest of her classmates did.
Piteously.
Midori's vision blurred as she made her way out of the classroom; away from her classmate's glances that made her feel as naked as the faked nude photographs of herself.
"The poor girl! Did you see the look on her face? She was completely humiliated!"
"It must have been Sasae's doing! I heard that she and Ohya had a fight. Sasae is probably still upset about some of the things Ohya told her at the annual get-together of the Legion just this summer."
"Nobody deserves to be humiliated like that! Midori-san has never hurt anybody in her life! What Chiho-san did was unforgivable! She should be ashamed of herself!"
"Just wait till Isako-sensei gets here! He loathes Chiho-san and her antics. He'll straighten her out but good!"
"Do you dare say such things about the principal's daughter? Principal Sasae would sooner forget about this incident than let his precious daughter's permanent record get marred, Isako-sensei or no Isako-sensei."
"Well, I say Masami and her cohorts from the fashion club are just as bad!"
"Those pranksters who showed Minamino-sama those printouts are the ones to blame! They're the ones who are always causing trouble."
"Hey, I have nothing to do with this! I ain't getting involved in no chick fight."
Yumiko gritted her teeth in frustration as she looked at her murmuring classmates in disgust. 'They keep on talking about how bad things are going for Midori-chan, yet they wouldn't even lift a finger to help her.'
The girl with lengthy sideburns shook her head. 'But I'm no better than them. Just three months ago, all I ever thought about was my crush with Shu-chan and shojo manga. I lived in my own little fantasy world, but I didn't even make any effort or attempt to make my fantasies come true.'
Yumiko was able to catch sight of Minamino as he confronted the sons of bitches that showed him those despicable fake pictures. Her heart skipped a beat as her gaze lingered. 'I may have lost Shu-chan, but I have no regrets in doing what I did. I lived my dream. I lived my life.' She looked determinedly at Chiho and her evil posse.
'Since I have a new credo of sorts, then I might as well follow it, right?' she reflected as she trudged towards her former friend's direction. 'This isn't the time to dawdle and daydream. It's time for action.'
'Disappear. I wish everyone would just disappear,' Midori thought as she sat on the school rooftop in a fetal position, hugging her notebook over her bosom protectively.
She hated being pitied. She hated seeing pity in the eyes of other people.
She especially hated seeing the reflection of pity in her own reddened eyes as she looked at a mirror image of herself at a nearby puddle of water.
There she was, sitting there, sniveling and wallowing in self-pity; and she hated the fact.
Midori's raw eyes was stung even more upon seeing the pathetic image before her. She threw a few stray pebbles at the dirtied pool, distorting the mortifying vision.
'I wish... I was the one to disappear; vanish, like the invisible girl that I am.'
Midori felt an eerie sense of deja vu.
"Sometimes I want to disappear, sempai. I keep wondering if everything would be better if I didn't exist."
It was said by a particularly close friend's voice; the voice of childish innocence that belied a mature and fatalistic viewpoint; the voice of a special, gifted individual that was often flippantly referred to as 'Minamino's little admirer,' just because he was overly familiar with the red-haired boy.
It was the voice of Shigeru Amano.
Shigeru's statement-the one that now floated in Midori's psyche-was said in the very same place where the bespectacled girl was currently occupying: the rooftop of Meiou High School's Science and Technology building. It was a very special place shared by people with two halves of the same soul.
'The two halves of the same soul,' Midori pleasantly thought. She and the freshman had often played with the idea that they were soul mates; that they were either siblings or family in a previous life. They even jokingly considered that they might have been husband and wife.
The mousy girl hummed in nostalgia. Those subjects were their usual topics of discussion in their secret hideaway. They were just two friends sharing a common bond of anonymity and loneliness.
How Midori longed for her fifteen-year-old friend to suddenly pop out of nowhere and greet her in his usual affable cheerfulness and candid glee. How she longed to reveal the aching feeling of disgrace and indignity in her heart. She wanted so badly to hold onto Shigeru, her symbolic flotsam to keep her from drowning in the sea of misery, because she had no one else but him.
She couldn't bear to go back to Mr. Isako's class-or rather, she couldn't bring herself to go back to a room full of degrading, distressed eyes staring back at her piteously. It would be too mortifying for her.
Yumiko... Minamino... worst of all, even Chiho... had the very same look of pity in their eyes. She had no friends left; none that could still look at her with honest respect and open admiration.
No one except Shigeru; he was, to Midori, her only friend left.
Midori subsequently chided herself for her selfishness and melodrama. She should also think about Shigeru's own needs. After all, codependency was what their relationship was all about.
"Perhaps we can talk more about those beautiful poems he made after his grandfather passed away," the bashful young woman mused before she felt a sudden, faint movement from behind her.
Could it be that her delightful young friend was hiding on the rooftop all along, not acknowledging her presence until the very last minute in respect of her moment of agitation and depression? How sweet.
"Shigeru-kun? Is that you?" Midori beckoned as she surveyed her surroundings inquisitively. She then called him by the pet name she chose for him; once a cruel childhood insult, now a teasing address between friends.
"Shinko-chan?"
"Wrong."
The voice that said that sounded... different. It was cold, frightening, distant; everything that Shigeru's voice was not. As the timorous young lass looked up, golden eyes that contained neither compassion nor even a hint of mortifying pity stared back at her; cruel, unmerciful eyes slightly hidden by sharp, silvery bangs that glinted in the midday sun.
Midori screamed until her lungs burned.
To be Continued...
Next: The Silver Fox and a star's death.
Note that I put in the title Shonen not Shonen-Ai. Shonen-Ai (male-male relationship) and yaoi are just not my cup of tea. This is dedicated to Chimamire Kitsune for giving me the inspiration to write this fic. Wherever you are, this is for you.
Ja!
Abdiel